


spring and beyond

by Addison R (beyond_belief)



Category: Enola Holmes (2020)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Slice of Life, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28304937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Addison%20R
Summary: A bit of a day in the life of Viscount Tewkesbury (liberal but worth a fortune).
Relationships: Enola Holmes/Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury
Comments: 13
Kudos: 194
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	spring and beyond

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ancarett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancarett/gifts).



Tewkesbury has barely finished dressing, and is still minus a cravat, when there comes a smart rap on the door. _That'll be Enola,_ he thinks, and raises his eyebrows at his footman. Thomas, no stranger to Enola's whims around the estate, mimics the expression before going to open the door. "Miss Enola," Tewkesbury hears him say, with a polite emphasis on _Miss_.

"Good morning, Thomas, isn't it a fine day?" is the reply, and Tewkesbury chances a quick look out the curtains to see the sun shining brightly over the grounds. Enola has no doubt already been out of doors, partaking in her daily exercise. 

"Indeed, Miss." Thomas looks briefly, albeit attentively, at Tewkesbury. "Will that be all, Sir?"

"That's all." 

The footman departs and Enola sweeps in, bringing with her the scent of sweet peas, as she's clutching a handful of them. They're deposited into the glass of water sitting on one of the tables. "Are you about ready for the day?" she asks, coming to a stop in front of Tewkesbury.

He takes her hand and presses a kiss to the back of it solely to watch her blush. Their engagement is only a few weeks old; sometimes just looking at one another makes both of them flush. "Your hair is still a bird's nest," she mutters, and snatches the comb from his dressing table. 

"Have we adventurous plans for the day?" Tewkesbury asks, as she begins to pick the comb - rather gently for her - through his hair. He does his best not to wince at the tangles when they pull. After a few moments, the comb begins to glide smoothly, and he watches Enola's face in the mirror as she watches what she's doing with a somewhat critical expression. 

"Running away," she answers finally, matching his casual tone.

"And... are we leaving immediately, or could I get in a cup of tea?"

"I suppose tea first." Enola returns the comb to its place with a gentle click. Then she presses a chaste kiss to Tewkesbury's warm cheek. "Tea, then."

The maid has set out a light breakfast in the sitting room. Tewkesbury settles on the settee, but Enola stands, drinking from the cup she'd nearly overfilled. "Are you..." Tewkesbury says, gesturing to the abundant seating options. 

"I'm fine."

"This is to be your home, too," he reminds her quietly, as he's done quite a number of times since she took up residence in the much smaller guest house across the grounds. 

"Mrs. Mason would be none too pleased were I to spill my cup."

Tewkesbury gets a good chuckle out of picturing the housekeeper's reaction, although Enola's not wrong. He splits a scone and butters both halves, then nudges one into her free hand. "Where are we running away to today, my dear?"

"Wherever we might end up."

They're going to end up in London, at Sherlock's as they tend to, but that's certainly fine with Tewkesbury. Sherlock will let Enola read all his papers, will discuss with her every last detail of his recent cases, and will sometimes allow her to accompany him to an interview or - on rare occasion - a crime scene. Enola is very aware of the skills she must hone to be a successful detective - she's made lists of the things she wants to learn - and Tewkesbury had months ago given up on having anything other than a modern wife. Titles be damned, it seems. _And I don't mind at all,_ he thinks to himself, watching Enola drink her tea. 

He has to admit he does enjoy sprawling lazily on the comfortable furniture in Sherlock's flat and listening to Enola and Sherlock talk, often for hours. He's learned all kinds of deductive strategies simply from paying a modicum of attention. They might not be applicable to botany, but Tewkesbury is certain he'll need them the next time he has to appear at the House of Lords. 

"I believe I'm in need of another set of eyes," Sherlock says hours later, after Tewkesbury and Enola have enjoyed a mostly quiet train ride from Basilweather to London. "Perhaps two sets of eyes."

"Beg pardon?" Tewkesbury asks from his current spot stretched out on the floor; Enola is on the settee and engrossed in what he believes to be a police file, one shoeless foot crossed over the other. One of her hands hangs down, every so often Tewkesbury reaches over and squeezes it. 

"Can you speak French?" Sherlock asks.

Tewkesbury raises himself up on his elbows. "Fluently." 

"Missing persons case, south of France, very well-known horticulturist," Enola says. "We'll go." 

"I missed something," Tewkesbury admits.

Enola hands him a newspaper clipping. _Family Continues Search for Former Versailles Palace Gardener,_ it reads in French. "Looking to expand the Holmes name onto the continent then, Sherlock?" he asks.

Enola laughs at that, her lapful of papers rustling. Tewkesbury looks over at Sherlock and sees his face threatening a smile. "I have work here," Sherlock says. "And thought perhaps a young couple might enjoy a bit of travel before settling down to the married life."

"At the very least, I need to work on my embroidery," Enola says in a dry voice. Tewkesbury tugs lightly at her fingers and she smiles brightly at him. "Where better to work on a view of the sea than Marseilles?"

"I've never been," Enola admits later, after they've returned to Basilweather and had an evening meal. Tewkesbury's gotten down to his shirtsleeves now, jacket and vest left over a chair, and is enjoying a brandy on the most comfortable sofa the estate contains. Enola is stretched out beside him, her head on his shoulder, her arm resting on his thigh. Their positions put a flutter in Tewkesbury's stomach, he must admit. Perhaps it was the several glasses of wine that accompanied the roast chicken. 

"What, to Marseilles?"

"Anywhere outside England." 

"You never have?" Enola tilts her head to look up at him, and Tewkesbury presses a lingering kiss high on her cheek. "I suppose I've been offered more opportunities than most," he allows. He strokes a hand lightly over her hair where it tumbles down her back. "I remember it was warm. I remember collecting lavender and sunflowers."

"I still don't care all that much for flowers, but that sounds nice." Enola sighs, tucking her arm around his. "And a real mystery to solve." She pauses, then looks up at him again. "You don't mind that I said we'd go, do you?"

"I don't mind at all," Tewkesbury assures her, his mind already brimming with images of himself accompanying Enola as she asks questions about the missing horticulturalist during the day, then walking hand-in-hand through the lavender fields in the evening. All pleasurable thoughts. "You're certainly at your best when applying your genius mind to a problem," he adds. 

"Mmm, a compliment." She stretches slightly, and this time the kiss is gentle to his mouth. "Thank you."


End file.
